As South Africa’s courts prepare to rule on Kémi Séba’s fate, the Bénin-born activist faces extradition after his mid-April arrest while attempting to cross into Zimbabwe. With 1.5 million social media followers, Séba has become a lightning rod for debates on whether he truly embodies today’s panafricanism. His story forces us to revisit the movement’s evolution and its many transformations.
By Venance Konan
In a bizarre twist, Kémi Séba—whose real name is Stellio Gilles Robert Capo Chichi—was detained alongside his 18-year-old son and François Van der Merwe, a South African white supremacist nostalgic for apartheid. The trio allegedly aimed to enter Zimbabwe before continuing to Europe.
Séba heads the NGO Urgences panafricanistes but is better known for his fiery anti-French, anti-CFA franc, and antisemitic rhetoric. This stance cost him French citizenship, granted at birth. In Bénin, he faces charges of “apology for crimes against state security and incitement to rebellion” after posting a video supporting soldiers involved in last December’s failed coup. An international arrest warrant has been issued.
Russian propaganda mouthpieces and Sahel dictators’ cheerleaders
Kémi Séba, Franklin Nyamsi, and Nathalie Yamb dominate Francophone Africa’s panafricanist discourse. All three aggressively oppose French influence while serving as Kremlin propaganda amplifiers and staunch supporters of the military juntas in Mali, Burkina Faso, and Niger—the so-called AES alliance. Does modern panafricanism mean replacing French domination with Russian control while backing coup leaders who openly reject democracy?
To understand this shift, we must trace panafricanism’s roots. Emerging in early 20th century Black American and Caribbean intellectual circles, the movement inspired anticolonial struggles across Africa. Key figures like Kwame Nkrumah (Ghana), Sékou Touré (Guinea), and Patrice Lumumba (Congo) turned panafricanism into the driving force behind decolonization and continental unity.
From anticolonial unity to fractured micro-nationalisms
The Federation of Black African Students in France (FEANF), founded in 1950, became a panafricanist hub in Europe. Its radical anti-colonial activism provoked harsh French repression: higher rents for African students, reduced scholarships, and constant police surveillance. The organization was dissolved in 1980.
The 1957 independence of Ghana and the 1960 wave of African decolonization were hailed as panafricanist victories. The creation of the Organization of African Unity (OAU) in 1963 marked another milestone toward continental unity—until micro-nationalisms took over. Instead of integration, Africa saw fragmentation: Eritrea’s secession, Sudan’s division, Biafra’s attempted breakaway, and Casamance’s ongoing conflict. In 2002, Libyan leader Muammar Gaddafi revived the unification dream by pushing the OAU to become the African Union (AU), but the project stalled. Gaddafi himself was killed in 2011 by a Western coalition. Meanwhile, the AU launched the New Partnership for Africa’s Development (NEPAD) in 2001 to boost integration and growth—but the initiative has since faded into obscurity.
From civil wars to African-on-African persecution
Today, panafricanism has become a political buzzword. Every visiting French politician must declare “I love Africa”, and African leaders often brandish the panafricanist label—even when their actions betray it. Côte d’Ivoire’s former president Laurent Gbagbo recently launched the Party of African Peoples-Côte d’Ivoire (PPA-CI), while Senegal’s ruling party calls itself Patriots of Senegal for Work, Ethics, and Fraternity (PASTEF).
Yet, outside wartime zones like the Horn of Africa or the Great Lakes region, African countries frequently target fellow Africans within their borders—South Africa’s xenophobic violence being a stark example. In West Africa, Sahelian juntas and ECOWAS members remain locked in bitter standoffs rather than pursuing unity.
Is today’s panafricanism genuine or a scam?
Séba, Nyamsi, and Yamb dominate the conversation, but their panafricanism raises questions. The Bénin-born Séba lost French citizenship for his extremist views, Nyamsi (Cameroonian-French) faces Parisian scrutiny for anti-French agitation, and Yamb (Cameroonian-Swiss) is EU-sanctioned for similar rhetoric. They frame themselves as persecuted truth-tellers battling Western—especially French—domination. But what remains of panafricanism when these figures openly serve Russian interests? Is replacing one master with another liberation? Can panafricanism justify supporting brutal dictatorships that silence dissent through imprisonment, disappearance, or murder?
Leaked phone conversations suggest Séba now accuses Nyamsi and Yamb of being “opportunists” in the pay of Togo’s president Faure Gnassingbé. Ironically, Séba himself has reportedly expressed regret over losing his French passport. This panafricanism reeks of opportunism, fraud, and empty rhetoric. Yet, with global predators circling Africa, rapid unity may be the continent’s only survival strategy.
